A Helping Handshake
by AristideCauquemaire
Summary: Time to tell the parents. [Short-ish sequel/follow-up/thing to "A Helping Hand, or A Hogwarts Bathroom Ballad". Slash; Scorpius/Albus. Dad jokes, Daddy issues, Dogma references. Complete!]
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Helping Handshake

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter (kind of...)

Rating: M for grown-up language. We say words like 'damn' around here.

Warnings: Yep, still slash.

* * *

_Hello again, my darlings!_

_This story/sequel/thing took me much longer than I had planned. I blame Patrick Rothfuss and the fact that I wanted this to be a short, quick, one-shot-ish ficlet and kept getting frustrated when it kept growing and growing... You'd think I learn, eh?_

_First things first: **This is a follow-up** to my other story "A Helping Hand, or A Hogwarts Bathroom Ballad" which I strongly suggest you **read before this one**. References abound, yo!_

_Also, as in the original story, this is slash. It's not as naughty as the original (like, at all), but it still deals with homosexuality and romance. If that's not your pint of butterbeer, do make use of your browser's back-button (or leave me a scathingly homophobic review. It'll gladly be used for inspirational purposes)!_

_Also! _

_Anonymousmiss, NateRiver1412, catalunya-triomfant, VampireShinobie, Yukairi, tenshi tsuki, Opinition, luvgirl101, ProperT, xYelloww, Abreca, Intorealm, Suyiro Motsuko, A Dying Species and Not Jeff - thank you all for favving Helping Hand, your nods made me really happy! Furthemore, thanks to Meow, Trish and Miss Paint for reviewing Helping Hand. Trish, thank you for the compliments, I hope this one won't let you down :)_

_And, last but not least, my sincerest gratitudes go out to Nia aka HP-Lette-Fan, the Original Beta who, despite trials and tribulations, still bore with me and my incessant questions, and to Mandi aka ChiffonShock who bravely handled my BE/AE and punctuation issues and also sponsored the fantastic term 'family hedge'. Thank you both so much!_

_This story will have 6 (or possibly 7, not sure yet...) chapters. As usual, I'll upload one every evening, it'll be complete by Wednesday the 29th (or possibly Thursday the 30th).  
_

_Allllrighty then. Without further ado... _

_Please enjoy!_

_/_

* * *

**A Helping Handshake**  
**Chapter 1**

/

"Uhm. Dad."

_Twitch, twitch-twitch _went the eyelid. The muscles in his father's cheeks were also working as if his jaw thought he was already talking, but his teeth were still clenched tightly together and his lips were compressed, so no sound came out.

"Say something, please."

Oh, how he wished his mum were here. She had even offered to support him through this, damn it.

She had been so easy to win over. Her main concern wasn't even the choice of partner; she had been three quarters sold in that regard before he had even opened his mouth to tell her about Albus.

No, she was sorrowful because she knew that this would complicate his life in many ways and might expose him to mindless hatred, ridicule and condescension from many sides.

"But I guess there is no choice in the matter though, is there?" she had asked, wiping a stray tear from the corner of one eye. "The only choice you really had was whether to express what's in your heart or to keep it shut in tightly. You've chosen to express it, and I for one, am _so_ proud of you for that."

Something something mothers saying kitschy things with utmost sincerity something something... Scorpius had made a mental note about asking her to dial back on her Nicholas Sparks novels intake and stop watching so much mid-morning television.

The conversation had then veered into the' Tell Me Everything' direction, with his mum needling him about 'Has He Said The Three Words Yet?' and 'What Do You Like Most About Him?' and 'Who Else Knows?'. Which had (inevitably) culminated in the last of her nosy questions: "When will you tell your father?"

A veritable mood killer and unscrupulous murderer of conversations, that.

He had bitten his lip and made some noises about finding the right moment and catching him in the right humour, yadda yadda. His mother had put a sympathetic arm around his shoulder and told him that, if he wanted her there for moral support, silent or vocal, he only needed to say the word.

Yet here he was, sitting on that couch, all by himself, looking at his father as he was sitting in his armchair. Silent and unmoving.

Well, except for the twitching.

"Say something, Dad," he pleaded again. "You're being a little scary right now."

Maybe he should have confronted him in increments. Scatter hints here and there for a few days. Call attention to how handsome he thought this or that male Quidditch player was, with optional focus on the few who were confirmed non-hetero. Make a point of putting up a life-sized poster of Cristiano Ronaldo in his undies (the one with the photoshopped bulge) over his bed. Possibly comment on pictures of Albus' father that were always in the _Prophet_, say something adulatory about his jawline or his eyes or whatever.

On second thought, maybe he simply shouldn't have started the whole conversation – which was supposed to be an innocuous invitation to dinner, no less – by bursting out, "Dad, I've been meaning to tell you that I've sort of fallen in love with Albus Potter and we're together now".

Literally anything else would have been better than that.

Ah well. Too late.

_/_

_/_

"Auntie Ginny," Fred asked, mouth still half-full with the mashed potato he had just shovelled into it with all the dexterity a four year old could command. "What's 'gay' mean?"

The table fell abruptly silent, interrupted only by the rustle of paper as Harry Potter, sitting at the head of the table, turned the page of the _Evening Prophet_ that rested on his knee.

Albus felt the not-so-surreptitious side glances of his siblings on him.

Ginny smiled and leaned toward her baby nephew a little. "Where'd you hear that word, Freddy darling?"

"Lily sayed it." He shrugged and already focussed on the food before him again. "A lot of times."

Lily shrank a little and also twitched her shoulder as if to shrug off her mother's quizzical gaze that accompanied an almost absent-minded "It's 'said', not 'sayed', Freddy".

_Fred must have overheard us talking earlier_, Albus thought, gnawing his lip. _That nosey little-_

"Is there anything you'd like to share with us, Lily?" Ginny asked, not unkindly.

Lily speared a single pea with her fork and said nothing.

Albus felt his heart thumping insistingly against his sternum.

He took a deep breath, then cleared his throat softly.

Lily looked at him, eyes wide.

Ginny followed her daughter's gaze.

Albus met his mother's eyes and saw puzzlement give way to blinking surprise. Her mouth went open a little and her lips formed a silent 'o'. He gave her a sheepish little nod that said _Sorry_ and _I swear I'll tell you everything once I've dealt with _this_..._ From her, Al looked to his father at the head of the table and back, a gesture as clear as pointing a finger at him.

He was still deeply immersed in the_ Prophet_, fork in mid-air, the load of peas and mashed potatoes on it probably long cold. He had tuned out of the conversation five minutes ago and obviously hadn't caught any of what had just transpired.

Ginny followed Al's gaze in turn to her husband, then back. Al could see realisation dawn on it. Her eyebrows crept up to her hairline. Next, she set her jaw, then nodded as if to herself and got up with some momentum.

"Alright, everyone! Let's go to the living room, why don't we? Right now. Come on, Freddy, you too. Dada's going to come pick you up in a quarter of an hour anyway and I know that you have no intention of eating those peas."

Lily and James both dropped their cutlery and shot up at once. Albus gave them both a narrow-eyed, pointed glances for that. Sure, he wanted privacy and all that, but they didn't have to look so eager to get away, as if something bad was about to take place in this kitchen.

Because nothing bad was about to take place in this kitchen.

Right?

The skin on the back of his neck started to go all prickly.

He was going to tell his dad about his relationship. That was all. Nothing dramatic.

Nothing bad. At. All.

_Right?_

The living room door closed audibly.

Albus exhaled once like a bellows.

Silence.

"Dad?"

"Hnn."

Al sighed. That damn newspaper. He could see why his mum was so frequently annoyed with it.

"Dad." He tried a little louder, and a little pointy as if to jab him with the word.

Harry twitched and finally looked up, quickly taking in the sight of the abandoned table, with half-eaten food still steaming on the plates. "Oh," he made, then frowned in confusion. "Where'd everyone go?"

"To the living room," Albus said, mentally adding _But their ears are still with us, basically. _He wouldn't be surprised if, right now, his sister was using one of those eavesdropping spells she was so good at. For once with her mother's full support.

"Huh. Why's that?" He rediscovered the fork in his hand, frowned at it and lowered it back onto his plate.

"Because I, uhm... I wanted to talk to you in private."

"What, right now?" he asked, perplexed, but folded the newspaper nonetheless. "It really couldn't have waited until after dinner?"

What his father couldn't know, of course, was that it _had_ waited until after dinner fifteen times in the past fifteen days already. Every time, it had waited until after dinner, and then after clearing the table, and then after washing the dishes, and then some.

Albus had been trying to somehow initiate this conversation over and over at several different instances, and then shied away again at the last moment. His dad, being Head Auror and Very Busy Important Person and all, had slipped away to do something or another during that moment of hesitation, perfectly unaware of his son's intentions, and the window of opportunity had snapped closed.

"Right now," Al repeated, nodding, then took a deep if shaky breath. _Now or never_.

_For Scorpius._

_/_

**TBC** (tomorrow)


	2. Chapter 2

Title: A Helping Handshake

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter

Rating: M for grown-up language and themes.

Warnings: Bunnies. Just kidding. Slash, actually.

* * *

_Nice to see you again! :)_

_Hi Swiften and lovleydarkness!_ _*waves*_

_Hi Guest! (I assume you're the same Guest from Helping Hand? The Weird one? :D) Thank you for your review ^^ I was never really _gone_, though, so I can't really be _back_ as such... Anyway, thank you for reading! Hope you'll enjoy this thing. It's really sort of short, overall. Sorry about that.  
_

_I've finished dividing the story now, it'll be 6 chapters of wildly varying lengths. Sorry about that, too. Couldn't be helped. _

_Have a go at the distinctly-longer-than-chapter-1 chapter 2, y'all!_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

/

"This has all to do with that spell Weasley put on you, doesn't it?" were the first words that came out of his father's mouth. "It addled your brain."

As first words went, it wasn't the worst Scorpius had imagined. He could have said something like 'That is disgusting' or 'You are not my son any more'. He knew that less fortunate boys all over the world had to hear those words out of their parents' mouths every day upon their confiding in them.

He knew that the least fortunate boys had to endure a damning silence that stretched all the way into their parents' graves, so he knew he was supposed to be glad that his father had said _anything_ at all. Even if it had taken quite some time.

Then again, those words weren't exactly stellar, either. And who was to say that it would get any better from there?

Scorpius felt something inside of him wither a little, but he refused to be brought down so easily. Albus was worth it. He wanted this, his father's acknowledgement, his _approval_, too much to just cower now.

"Glad you finally decided to join the conversation," he quipped, almost, _almost_ nailing the airy tone of voice. "As to your questions: Yes, it does, but not the way you think. And: No, it hasn't. The spell wore off in February already, like it was supposed to. My brain is fine and I am... I am... simply... in love with him."

His heart still did an odd little jerk that wasn't really part of the diastole-systole regimen when he said it out loud.

His father got up from his armchair, walked two paces toward the door – for a second Scorpius feared that he would walk out on him – then turned, walked four paces into the other direction, turned again. Only then did Scorpius realise that his father was _pacing_, which was another one of those things he thought no one actually did except in movies, books, and badly written slash fan fiction, and which he certainly had never seen his father do. It took a full minute, minute and a half until he finally came to rest behind the high back rest of his armchair.

Gripping the edge of the leather from behind in an obviously very tight clutch that made the material creak, he demanded, "How did that happen?"

Scorpius blinked. That was an oddly broad, unspecific sort of question. "How- How did what happen?"

"You told us you were friends." His tone was quite imperious, majestic plural and all, and his posh upper class accent was stronger than ever. "Now, suddenly, you say you're in love with him. How did that happen?"

"Dad, I..." _really_ really_ cannot tell you about that. I cannot tell you about random boners at night and repeatedly being jerked off in one bathroom stall or another. Please don't make me._ "It just did." Not so much an understatement, more of a flat-out lie. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "People just fall in love with their best friends sometimes."

"Sort of," his father said, with an odd, sharp emphasis.

"Huh?" Scorpius sat up straighter, as if the two words had zapped him.

"You said you had '_sort of_ fallen in love' with Albus Potter."

"I... I did?" Oh yes. He dimly remembered.

"Yes, you did," his father said with the same emphasis. "And, quite frankly, I'd like you to elaborate on that."

"It just- slipped out of my mouth. I didn't mean anything by it." Oh wow. This was December last year all over again, just not in the South Wing Study.

"Are you sure about that?"

"I'm absolutely sure, Dad." _Doesn't sound like it_, his annoying inner voice remarked. _Shut up_, he mentally snapped at it. "Why are you-"

"Because people who are only 'sort of' in love shouldn't be in a relationship, son."

Scorpius' shoulder sagged a bit. This was one of the things he'd feared would happen. His father trying to talk him out of it. _Fair enough_, he thought. _I handed that one to him. My own bloody fault._

"Dad," he said with all the truthfulness he could muster, speaking around the lump that tightened his throat, enunciating clearly, and looking him straight in the eye. "I am in love with him. I have been for quite some time. Truly. I know you'll need some time getting used to the idea, but... please, don't question my feelings, or my sincerity."

He held the eye contact and somehow tried to convey _If I had a single doubt about it, I wouldn't have gone to all this trouble and told you because, _quite frankly_, telling you this is the scariest thing I think I've ever done and I would never be doing this to myself if I didn't think it was necessary and worth it _with his gaze. He didn't want to say that out loud, though. He didn't want his father to think that he was afraid of talking to and opening up to him.

Truth be told, he was a bit – his pounding heart and sweaty hands attested to that –, but not _really_.

Not like he, Draco Malfoy, had been afraid of doing the same to his own father, the late Lucius Malfoy who sometimes still seemed to loom over him. Especially in moments like this.

Ever since his mum had told him about the whole mess his (really not so grand) grandfather had made of his own family, Scorpius had often spotted those little moments of hesitation in his dad, and he imagined him asking himself, with some amount of horror, if he was behaving, thinking or feeling like Lucius right then.

Just now, he saw him hesitate again, and swallow on a dry throat.

Then, he nodded and eased up on the armchair a bit, and Scorpius allowed himself a sigh of relief. It came out somewhat tremblingly. In turn, the lump eased up its grip on his windpipe a little.

They were both silent for a minute.

Eventually, his father spoke up again, his voice much quieter than before and with a bit more of what Scorpius called the 'Greengrass inflection' in it.

"For quite some time, eh?"

"Yeah," Scorpius nodded. "It's been six months." Technically and officially it had been five months and twenty seven days, but who was counting anyway?

His father made a noise that could be interpreted as perplexed, or surprised, or appreciative, or even dismayed.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you and Mum earlier," Scorpius hastily explained, just in case it was a negative sort of noise. "I didn't mean to keep secrets from you. I just felt that it... wasn't something you should tell someone on a noisy Quidditch pitch, or even only via owl."

"That was very considerate," his father said slowly. He grimaced a little at the end of the sentence and added in a hurry, "Really. I mean it. Sounded sarcastic, but it wasn't."

Scorpius huffed a small laugh at that. Relief made his heart flutter like a tiny bird. "Got it."

His father cleared his throat. "Good."

Silence again. The companionable sort of silence this time.

"Well," Scorpius eventually said, acknowledging that they had run out of things to say, and that it would probably be _considerate_ of him to just leave his father be for now, let him digest all that new information, "I'll just-" He made to get up.

"What about _him_?" The question came like a cough.

Scorpius froze mid-rising. "What _about_ him?" he asked. He assumed that 'him' was Albus – one day, he would have to ask his father to actually say his name –, but didn't see the point of the question yet.

"Is he..." Draco gestured small loopings with his hand. "Is he _sort of_ in love with you, then?"

Scorpius frowned at him. "He's-"

"Do you know that he's sincere?" he interrupted. "I mean, I don't want to imply that he's being malicious or anything-"

"... malicious...?"

"He might as well just be overwhelmed by your feelings and simply not know how to say 'no' for fear of alienating you-"

"Dad!" He held up his hands as if that would help stem that flood of well-meant if uncalled-for concern. _If you had any idea about Albus and what he did for me..._

_On second thought: Boy, am I glad that you have_ no idea_ about Albus and what he did for me._

"Scorpius, I honestly don't mean to discredit this young man. I can see that you are- very fond of him. But tell me truthfully."

As if to emphasise the importance of the question, he walked around the armchair and sat down in it again, but on the edge, leaning towards his son, making unblinking eye contact and all.

"Do you think... Have you ever had any reason, no matter how small, to believe that _he_," he put a stress on the pronoun that slowed down his speech, before suddenly all the words rushed out of his mouth at once, "might only be together with you because he has a persistent helper complex?"

Scorpius gaped at him.

It sounded stupid. Really stupid.

He would have laughed.

Problem was that he had had the _exact same idea_ five months and twenty seven days ago.

"Because," his father continued, speaking much more slowly again and illustrating the seriousness of his proposal with splayed fingers, "that wouldn't be surprising to me in the least. I- Let's just say that I know his type. Okay?"

His father leaned even further forward, scooting closer towards him so that he was only sitting on the very edge of the chair, about to fall down any second. It was all very conspiratorial. Scorpius even gave in to the urge to mirror his father's posture.

Of all the questions he had, the first one to jump off his tongue turned out to be, "What 'type' would that be, Dad?"

After some seconds of fishing for proper words, his father eventually said, with great urgency, "He's a _Potter_."

/

"He's a _Malfoy_!"

Albus rolled his eyes skyward. "Dad-"

He was sort of glad that this was literally his father's only point of contention. He had been vaguely afraid that there would be more general objections – say, on his whole being gay, maybe? – even though, deep in his heart, he had known those worries to be completely unfounded. His father was the most tolerant and kind-hearted person he knew, after all. He had been to Oliver Wood's wedding in Canada and everything.

Still, it would be nice if he could cease harping on about Scorpius like that. More specifically, his last name.

"No, son. You don't understand my meaning." He took Albus by the shoulders, looking him in the eye intensely. "He. Is. A Malfoy."

"I know, Dad-"

"A Malfoy."

"I'm perfectly aware that that's his last name, Dad."

"Do you know what this means?"

"Apart from the fact that we're very, very distantly related because our family tree is more of a family hedge?" he guessed.

"Your godmother punched his dad in the face once."

"I kno-_What_?"

His father brushed his question aside and tightened his grip on his shoulders a bit, even shaking him a little.

"I'm telling you, the whole family is bad news, Albus."

/

"It's all... politics with them. Politics and tabloid press. They're all _famous – _you know what I mean? _Famous_, mostly for _being famous_ these days _-_ the whole bunch, and you know how _famous_ people can be..."

"Dad-"

/

"I really believe they're not trustworthy. I mean, no offence to the son, since I don't know him. I'm just saying that the apple rarely falls far from the tree..."

"But, Dad-"

/

"Frankly, I just wished you had picked any other boy..."

"Dad."

/

"Seriously, any other one would do. Well, not _any_ other one. He'd have to be whip smart, talented, high principled, exceedingly handsome and drop dead sexy and all that, but... you know, what I mean..."

"Ugh, Dad, please-"

/

"I just want you to be happy. That sounds kitschy and more like something your mother would say without blushing, but it's still true..."

"Dad-"

/

"And I don't want you to get hurt, but I believe that with him, with _that _last name, it's pretty much inevitable that he will-"

"_Dad!_"

Albus very rarely raised his voice outside of a Quidditch pitch. He didn't think that he had been loud in this house since he had been four or so – Lily had been born then and both he and James had quickly understood that the rosy little thing in their mother's arms (which had resembled an angry potato with frizzy red hairs on top) needed a lot of peace and quiet lest it start wailing like a percussion drill for hours on end.

He had never fought with his dad – with his mum, yes, plenty, but his father simply never gave him proper reason – and thus had never yelled at him as long as he could remember.

This amplified the effect of yelling at him now quite a bit.

His father sat and looked at him, round-eyed, flabbergasted and – and this was the best part – wordless.

Al even thought he could hear people gasp in the kitchen.

"I understand your concern. I really do," he started, voice quiet and soothing. Fighting with his mum had taught him to always express empathy and understanding first. It calmed everyone's nerves, brought the blood pressure down and made the opposing side more susceptible for what he was about to say – even if what he was about to say flew in the face of his soothing words, or the other one's expressed opinion. He wasn't sure whether this tactic would work on his dad, too, since he had never fought with him before, but he reckoned that it couldn't hurt to try.

"You and Scorpius' father have some sort of an ugly history together, I know."

Sadly, he didn't really _know_. For some annoying reason, no one wanted to tell him anything much about that. His uncle George had once mentioned something about a ferret but then refused to explain it further. And just a few moments ago, his father had let slip something about aunt Hermione punching Mr Malfoy in the face, which was _really_ confusing and practically begged for an extensive background story. Albus didn't doubt that it would fill seven books at least, and that it would be an engrossing, bestselling read.

He took a focussing breath. Back to the task at hand, as long as his father was still sitting there and listening readily.

"And I know that Mr Malfoy... Scorpius' father is a complicated person, and that _his_ father was something of a fiend. I know there's a complicated family history."

Sadly, he really did know that.

In first year, there had been a student exchange with Durmstrang. Everyone was paired up with a Durmstrang student (who didn't speak any English) and made to accompany them on an excursion around the Hogwarts castle. A witch from the Ministry who was fluent in several eastern and northern European languages had lead the group, a neat little line of twos, stopping by certain rooms, portraits, statues and so on and telling them about the history, like a tourist guide in a museum.

They had halted in front of an otherwise blank wall, and the Ministry witch had explained that, according to several insider accounts, this had been the spot where the Room of Requirement had appeared when one Draco Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater of the Dark Lord Voldemort, had utilised the Vanishing Cabinet within to help Death Eaters infiltrate Hogwarts, an infiltration that had famously lead to the death of Albus Dumbledore some seventeen years before.

People had hushed, heads had turned – Al's included, because he hadn't known anything about any of that before. The Durmstrang boy who had been walking with Scorpius that day had stepped away, swearing in high-pitched Hungarian, and refused to keep walking next to him. So had all the other Durmstrang kids.

Scorpius had acted as if it didn't bother him and kept walking without a partner at the very tail end of the crocodile, but Albus had heard him cry later that night. It had taken a lot of patience to get him to talk about it all, and he had done some research, and so Albus had pieced together what the deal was with the former generations of the Malfoy family. Complicated indeed.

"But," he continued, "I am not together with Scorpius' father, or his grandfather. I'm together with _Scorpius_. And, sorry for pointing out the obvious, but... they are all different people, if you believe it or not," he added, trying to not sound too patronising.

"Albus-"

"Dad,_ please_. I'm serious with him. It's serious with us. I simply ask you to give him a chance, that's all. You've never even exchanged a word with him."

His father's expression teetered on a knife's edge for a second, then finally softened a little. Albus let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

"Alright. Alright," his father mumbled in defeat, giving him a fatherly pat on the arm. "I'm sorry, Albus. It's just... I am... concerned." He smiled wryly. "Maybe overly so."

"So, uhm." Al bit his lip. That had been the _hard_ hard part, now came the _slightly easier_ hard part. "The problem is, really, that you don't know Scorpius, yeah? Vice versa, Mr Malfoy also doesn't know me. But we don't want to lie to anyone, or keep secrets from you, or even alienate anyone. No one should be uncomfortable. So Scorpius and I have been thinking..."

/

"Why don't we invite them over? So you'll get to know Al personally? See for yourself?"

"_Them_?!" Naturally, his dad had caught on to that plural pronoun like a shark smelling that one drop of blood in the ocean.

"Well, yes," Scorpius explained with a sigh, knowing that the stretch of road ahead would be a rocky one again. "_Them_. Al and his parents."

His father's eyes went wider at that than he had ever seen them and his mouth made a thin, flat line. _Oh Merlin. _That_ bad. _One of these days, he swore to himself, he would somehow find out what exactly had transpired between his father and Harry Potter (and possibly Ginny Weasley) in the past.

Scorpius feigned nonchalance, though, thinking that if he didn't acknowledge his dad's imminent raptus potterphobicus, it might go away by itself.

"I'm just saying." He shrugged. "Mum said we should invite them. She wants to get to know Al personally, too, of course. And his parents, if only for some autographs and a selfie or ten, and to make the Shrewsburys jealous. She said it would make more sense to invite them all, instead of just Al by himself, because that would be awkward, wouldn't it?"

His mum had never said anything of the sort, but he knew she'd be thrilled and back the idea as if it were her own the moment he suggested it.

"When we talked about it," he went on casually, still ignoring the horror-struck look on his father's paling face, "she said that Saturday next week would be good."

Since he really hadn't talked to her about it, she had never said that, either.

She had, however, told him on another occasion that she and his father were planning to visit her aunt and uncle in London for a day, taking a portkey next week's Saturday evening around ten.

Which made that Saturday the ideal day for a dinner with the Potters, given that it would be over before ten one way or another, thus dramatically minimising the potential for escalation. Giving the whole enterprise an absolute time frame should, by rights, give his father something to cling to even if things turned sour.

Incidentally, this constellation of plans furthermore presented the ideal opportunity for Al to... stay over for the night. Surreptitiously, so to say. As a serendipitous by-product. Which, of course, he didn't need to mention at this point. He and Albus had rather planned to confront his parents and Al's parents with the fact and then send them on their long ways to London and Godric's Hollow respectively. Let them rage and spit hundreds of kilometres over yonder.

"Yes," his father mumbled with a strangely hollow sort of voice. "Yes, Saturday next week would be good, I'm sure. If your mum says so. Yes." He nodded slowly, reminding Scorpius of a bobblehead doll.

Scorpius pressed his lips together to stifle a pleased smirk.

He finished the conversation – his father was rather helpful in this regard, too, quite eager indeed to urgently go do something else somewhere else – and went to find his mum, to fill her in on recent developments and make sure that she thought it was all her idea. Just like the Coming-Out-Conversation with her, it was easier than he would have dared to believe. She practically embraced the plan like a second child.

Still gleefully smiling to himself, he made his way to his room to compose a letter to a certain Albus Severus Potter with whom he had an ongoing, now fifteen-day-old bet – for two sickles and the privilege of being the little spoon for a whole night – about which of them would manage to have The Talk with their respective father first. He was already mentally crowning himself the winner as he entered his bedroom and headed straight for the desk.

Much to his startled surprise, followed by much disgruntlement, gnashing of teeth and some creative swearing, he found his desk already occupied, though. Albus' tiny, snowy owl (whose name – Anchy, short for Angry Inch – was another one of those muggle references he didn't get because he had not elected to take Muggle Studies in fifth year) sat there, looking decidedly smug. A short, rolled-up letter was tied to his leg.

"Can't win them all, I guess," Scorpius sighed to himself as he moved to take Albus' note, already knowing what it would contain. _Dearest Scorpius. Guess who just came out to his father and won a bet? Get ready to gently cradle me while you have my hair in your face aaall night long.  
_

"Just you wait," he told the owl. "One day, we'll get to spoon the crap out of each other, for a whole night instead of just from half past midnight to four o'clock, and then I'll be the little spoon. Eventually."

Anchy simply stared at him, thinking owly thoughts.

/

**TBC** (tomorrow)

_Shout-out to ChiffonShock for the family hedge, again! Thanks!  
_

_Double points for anyone who spots the bit I shamelessly stole from Dogma._

_Triple points for reviewing! (Now there's a hint full of subtlety and grace...)_


	3. Chapter 3

Title: A Helping Handshake

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter

Rating: M, for Malfoy. Wait.

Warnings: Still slash. Redwall reference. Shameless teenage romance fluff stuff.

* * *

_Welcome back! I've been expecting you. *staples fingers* *evil laugh*_

_Thanks to maxou for favving and following... everything that can possibly be favved and followed. Very thorough, I like that._  
_And some more thanks to AnoGal and Miss Paint for favving/following and/or reviews that make me do my excited velociraptor impression. (That's a good thing. A horrid sight, but a very good thing nonetheless.)  
Weird Guest: Are you kidding,_ of course_ I recognized you. Your enthusiasm is one of a kind. You're practically a legend in my book :) Thank you for your review, again!  
_

_Okay, folks. We're halfway through. This one and chapter 4 (which I will upload tomorrow evening) are both long ass chapters. As I said, dividing the story was awkward. Hang in there! :)_

* * *

**Chapter 3**

/**  
**  
Two days and some silent negotiations, agreements and mutual briefings later, the dinner plans for Saturday of the following week were set. Scorpius looked over his mother's shoulder as she wrote a formal invitation with her calligraphy quill, dark bronze ink on creamy parchment. She beamed at him when he complimented her penwomanship, kissed his cheek and said, "If you do things properly and ask me nicely, I'll pen your wedding invitations as well." When he blushed and spluttered at that, she just laughed.

After he watched her big white owl, Captain Snow, make off with the artfully curled and sealed parchments, he had nine days to kill.

Nine endlessly long days.

He finished all of his assignments (except Herbology because Herbology was so, so boring, no matter that Professor Longbottom was a fine teacher), prepared next year's study group material for Potions, flooed to Diagon Alley with his mum to buy the new books and things he already knew he would need in the coming session, as well as two new sets of clothes, cleaned his bedroom more thoroughly than it had ever been cleaned (or rather watched as Milly did the cleaning) – and at the end of that, there were still five days left to go.

Thursday late in the sleepless night, he wrote a letter to Albus, complaining about how time just stretched and stretched, and how it hadn't even been this bad in February.

Surprisingly, Albus wrote back right away. His reply was delivered by a screech owl that woke Scorpius from his frustrated half-sleep with its pecking at his window pane at two in the morning.

_How's your father coping?_ Albus asked after a moderately uplifting intro and main part.

_I can tell my parents are both not exactly thrilled  
about the Malfoy bit of your name and the Manor  
aspect of Saturday's dinner... but they're  
determined to not ruin it for me and act real ma-  
ture and everything._ _Mum reassures me almost  
every day. I just hope Dad will behave himself..._

Scorpius hesitated as he scribbled his answer, nipping the fringe of his writing quill and frowning at Albus' words. How _was_ his father coping? Good question.

_Dad and I haven't talked about anything Saturday-related  
since last week,_ he wrote back.

_He's very busy these days. Like very, very busy. Which is  
probably a bad sign_.

Really, they hadn't talked about anything anything-related since that crucial conversation in the sitting room. Scorpius had been so busy himself, desperately trying to hurry time along, he had hardly noticed that he had only caught glimpses of his father all week. At breakfast, when he was in and out of the kitchen with his cup of Earl Grey. At dinner, when he arrived so late that his mum was already busy putting the leftovers into serving-sized Tupperware containers. He had been in Cardiff over the weekend – which was why Scorpius and his mum had gone shopping in London the whole day, to escape the empty Manor – and then allegedly had a lot of work to catch up on...

Scorpius gnawed his lower lip.

_Or I'm just paranoid and over-sensitive and reading too much  
into things. You know how good I am at that sort of thing._

He sighed and imagined Albus snorting air out of his nose laughing and nodding when he would read this.

_He'll be fine, eventually. I think_

– He magicked that last word away –

_hope that this really has everything to do with the whole  
awkwardness and your dad – no offence – and not with...  
you know, us. Me. The whole... being gay bit._

It hadn't seemed that way on Tuesday last week, after all. His father had practically skipped over the being gay bit without comment and gone straight to the choice of partner issue.

Then again, maybe he had read too many things into _that_. Maybe his not touching upon the subject at all should have given him pause?

It was confusing. His father was confusing.

_I am confused_, he wrote.

_Confused, but tentatively hopeful._

He cringed. Cheesy.

But he knew that Al liked it a little cheesy.

He grinned wryly to himself and dipped the quill into the ink again.

_Also, on a hopeful note, did I tell you lately that I cannot  
wait to see you?_

_/_

_/_

_Saturday._

_It's Saturday._

That was the first thought going through Draco Malfoy's head when he turned said head and saw his bedside clock glowing a cheery 0:02 at him. He rubbed his eyes, hoping that it might be a mistake, perhaps some sort of optical illusion – but no. The 0:02 stayed, albeit more bleary now than before because he had rubbed quite vigorously, and then even switched to 0:03 that very second as if to mock him. He glowered.

Next to him, Astoria slept peacefully. Of course she did. Everything was going according to her plan.

But she didn't know how bad an idea it was to have Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley over for dinner. Oh, she knew about him and Potter and Weasley, having pieced stories together from personal recollections and collective Hogwarts memory, but she didn't _know_. That much was clear after five or six discussions they had had about this very topic. She thought it was a completely, utterly splendid idea to bring these two people into this house. She thought that almost two decades of no personal contact should have worn away just about all of that antagonism. She thought that being – or at least acting – civilised for two and a half hours shouldn't be too much to ask. For Scorpius' sake.

She just didn't get it.

Which, he supposed, wasn't surprising, given that he couldn't really articulate _it_. There were just no words, or not enough words, to properly describe the quality of the enmity that had connected him to the older Potter and pretty much every Weasley he had ever known personally (the twins being the exception, he had always sort of liked their style). If he were to try and tell her that, if someone had written a story about the Malfoy v Potter/Weasley issue, it would have ended up as seven books and he would have been one of the major antagonists for at least four of the volumes (until the Dark Lord and Dolores Umbridge came along and made him look sort of okay), Astoria would call him overdramatic and ridiculous. Hence, he couldn't really convey his thoughts about the two elder thirds of his future dinner guests.

But it wasn't just about Potter and his wife. There was also the boy.

That..._ boy._

He had only seen him from the spectator's stands, from afar. He was a decent flier and beater, far as he could tell. From what Scorpius had told him and Astoria over the years, he was an above-average student, particularly gifted in Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was almost painfully cliché, a genial, quiet kind of person, generally liked and admired by his peers, which made Draco seriously confused about how on Earth he had ended up in Slytherin anyway.

When Scorpius talked about him, it sounded like that boy were a goddamned angel. A saint, bodhisattva, avatar, all rolled into one.

And now, when Scorpius was sitting at the breakfast table, chewing his soggy cornflakes and staring into space, he was probably thinking about that boy and it made him smile mildly and sigh wistfully under his breath and Draco couldn't bear the sight of it.

That bloody boy wasn't even anywhere near Wiltshire and he was already stealing his son away in increments.

What, then, would happen when he came here?

Twenty hours from now.

Draco turned his head again.

Nineteen hours and twenty six minutes from now.

He turned his back toward the clock, punching his pillow and pulling his duvet as he rolled over, then punching the pillow again thrice.

Potter. Weasley. And that bloody boy.

/

/

Scorpius sighed and flipped shut the thick, glossy issue of _Quidditch Today_ he had been reading for – roughly – twelve minutes and forty-one seconds. Well, not _reading_ exactly. More like leafing through. Turning pages of. Holding in his hands and looking at while not seeing, like he normally only did with his Herbology textbooks.

In his peripheral vision, his clock's second hand seemed to slow down with every complete tour around the clock face, dragging the minute hand with it.

Six fifty-eight pm. Thirty-two more minutes before the Potters would arrive.

In one thousand nine hundred and twenty seconds, he would see Albus again.

Just short of an eternity.

He gave a groan and let himself fall back on his couch, bare legs sticking up to the ceiling. As frustrating as waiting was, the anticipation also made him grin like an idiot. Little happy bugs were crawling around in his belly, and his heart seemed to be hopscotching all about his ribcage.

Albus.

_Albus._

_Finally._

He grabbed and hugged one of his cushions to his chest, then tried to hold his breath because he already knew what would come in with the next inhalation.

He staved it off as long as he could, but eventually he had to. He breathed in.

The anticipation bubbled over into anxiety, like it always did.

What if his parents didn't like Albus?

What if Al's parents didn't like him?

What if someone got into a fight and it all ended in a great big disaster?

What if he had to pick sides?

What if Al had to pick sides?

He hurried to breathe out and in again.

Al's voice was calm and sure in his head. The words were from his last letter which Anchy had brought Scorpius last night.

_Believe me, Scorp, I get how you feel. So many things  
could go wrong in so many ways. There's so much  
that happened between our parents that we don't  
know, it's like hit-the-pot in a minefield. And I so, so  
badly want this to be so completely perfect_, he had written, the slant of his handwriting betraying to Scorpius just how honest these words were, penned down with hardly a breath in between, hardly a second thought, just urgent feelings spilling onto the page.

_I get scared. But then I remember that, really, every-_  
_thing's going to be fine. No matter how this day goes  
and no matter what your parents or mine say about  
anything, everything's going to be fine in the end  
because I'll have you._

And with that, the anxiety receded again. It didn't evaporate, it didn't admit defeat and toddle off. But Scorpius found a way to breathe again without having to fear that he would vomit up his lunch any moment now.

_I'll have you._ It was that simple.

Seven oh-one. Twenty-nine minutes left to go.

There was a small knock on the door. Scorpius merely lifted his head and called "Come in!", expecting his mother. She was late on checking in on him anyway. He had been sure she would never miss out on the opportunity to help him pick out something dashing for dinner.

"You're not dressed yet."

He sat up with a start. His father stood in the doorway, frowning at his son as he lay on the couch in a worn-out t-shirt and his Pokémon trunks with his feet in the air, like a stranded turtle with a very dubious fashion sense.

"Uh. Yah, so I am," Scorpius replied, untangling himself from his couch and the pillow and sitting up properly. Blood rushed back into his legs, making the soles of his feet prickle. "It won't take more than five minutes anyway, so..." He shrugged. "I figured that the longer I put it off, the less time I have to fret about it. Besides, I think I make the best fashion choices under pressure."

His father nodded. "Sound reasoning."

"Did mum throw you out of the kitchen?"

"Uh. Yes." He pulled a face somewhere between miffed and sheepish and scratched his nose. "But she has promised she'll keep her fingers off the roast and that she'll call me downstairs when it needs finishing, so I reckon she won't be doing too much damage."

Scorpius chuckled. His parents had been in an ongoing cooking contest for six years. Every time he was home for the holidays, they would present meals to him and ask him to judge taste, texture and presentation to find out who was the better chef. His mum had had the upper hand for the first two years, on account of actually having learnt her way around a kitchen from her mum, while his dad had been served by house-elves all his life up until then and never so much as made a pasta for himself. But then his dad had started reading cookbooks, started following cooking programs in magazines, actually subscribing to several of them just for the recipes, and attended cooking classes - "To give him something to do when you're at Hogwarts," his mum had once said - and slowly but steadily improved. Now, they were virtually evenly matched in overall skills, but – to keep the competition alive – they still fancied themselves superior to the other in certain culinary categories.

His father, for example, thought that he was the only one in this manor who knew how to properly handle meat, in particular of the bovine and porcine variety.

"I acknowledge that your mother may be the only human being on earth who can transform chicken and mutton into more than dry, tasteless cardboard pulp," he had intoned one dinnertime over a particularly tasty steak he had made, "but when it comes to pork and beef, _I_ am the master of the house." Astoria had laughed and rolled her eyes in overdramatic, playful mockery.

That evening was a very fond memory. Scorpius grinned to himself.

"Listen, Jade firecalled half an hour ago or so. She wanted to humbly brag about how Martin had got himself four tickets to that very, _very_ exclusive performance of 'Coriolanus' which they play at some obscure, artsy stage on Sunday night," his father said, drawling the 'Martin' and the 'very' and the 'artsy'. In front of his son, at least, he didn't have to conceal how much he disliked Astoria's uncle and aunt and their snobbish in-your-face- one-upper- hipsterism.

"That means you'll be staying in London until Monday?" Scorpius asked, fighting his hardest to keep a very straight face while the happy bugs in his body went nuts.

Almost two days.

"Monday early afternoon, I suppose," Draco nodded, looking sour. "You can bet Martin is going to insist on dragging us to some vegan lunch event location thingy or another. If it's on a decommissioned submarine and we end up eating salad-shaped tofu garnished with organically grown honey comb that has been harvested during the full moon while the bees were sleeping to the soothing sound of Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 5, I'd not be surprised."

Almost two full days.

Two _nights_.

"I remember promising you we'd be going to the junior league's game tomorrow evening. I even have the reservations," his father said, now honestly sour and a little glum. "That Villeneuve girl will be playing for the last time for quite some time, what with the Beauxbatons trimester starting again..." He trailed off.

"It's okay, Dad," Scorpius said, shrugged and offered a wry smile. "I've learned everything I could from her anyway."

"Are you sure?" he asked, clearly not on the topic of Mademoiselle Villeneuve's Quidditch skills, but more generally.

"_Sure_ sure," he promised. Then a thought occurred to him. "Can we go to Swindon Monday evening when you're back from work? Fly around, shoot some goals? Please, Dad. We haven't been for ages."

His father smiled broadly, grey eyes sparkling. "On the condition that you ask your mum for permission for both of us."

"Heh. Consider it done." Scorpius smirked. His mother was putty in his hands lately.

Both of them sighed happily for a moment.

"I should check on the roast, and you should get dressed," his father eventually said, still smiling.

"I guess I should," Scorpius agreed, although his clock still said seven oh-six, i.e. still way too soon for dressing, really.

"Are you sure you're okay with us being gone the whole weekend?" his father asked again, door handle already in hand. "I mean, we could always tell Jade and Martin that you'd rather not be all alone in this huge house for two whole days..." He let the hopeful implication hang in the air.

All alone? Yeah, no.

_Two whole days._

"Don't worry, Dad," he said quickly and a little breathlessly because his heart was thumping like mad. "We'll be fine."

The offhand remark only properly registered in his brain after it had already made its way out of his mouth and back up through his ears. _Shit_. He tried, in vain, to suck back in the air that carried the words.

"'_We_'?"

What was it about his father and personal pronouns anyway? Why did he pay so much attention to them? Such tiny little words, why didn't one of them just slip by him once in a while?

"Uhm," he made and desperately wished he had Albus' ability to lie to beat the band. Which he really, really hadn't. Thus, "Uhm," he made again. "I didn't mean-"

"You _mean_ you're planning on having him stay the night, don't you?" His father's tone was suddenly sharp as a scalpel, all the playfulness gone as if it had never been there. "And you _meant_ to inform us of that fact the second before we were on our way to London, didn't you?"

Scorpius bit his lower lip. Either he was just too easy to figure out, or his dad was a master of deduction, or he just knew him too well. Probably a bit of each. He huffed. Oh well. No point in denying it.

"Because I knew you'd only throw a fit," he said, voice low but not quite sheepish.

"And why wouldn't I?" his father shot at him. "A lie by omission is still a lie, Scorpius. You omitted to inform your mother and me of the fact that you mean to spend the night with this boy. Alone. In this house. In _my_ house."

Scorpius spent four full seconds on feeling very guilty, then grit his teeth, lifted his head to meet his father's angry gaze, and said very evenly, "So?"

He blinked, momentarily taken aback. "So everything," he eventually said, but his voice went up at the end of the word, as if he wasn't quite sure about it. To make up for the display of uncertainty, he continued in a much sterner, pointedly surer voice, "Scorpius, this is not acceptable for-"

"So are you going to forbid me from having him over?"

Scorpius chose a calm, level tone he had learnt from watching Al. Or rather, a tone Al had used on – or rather _against_ – him so often that he had subconsciously made it his own.

It worked. His father fell silent.

"Or are you going to, I don't know, evict him from the premises as soon as he and his folks apparate in?"

His father frowned and blinked again. Apparently, this conversation was not heading into any direction he had anticipated. "I- No, I don't..."

"Or are you going to tell Milly to chaperone us all night? Because we are approximately eight years old and just need that kind of surveillance?"

Suddenly he felt a hot ember of anger flaring up behind his sternum. It had been there for quite a while already. Scorpius knew very well how long it had been there, waiting to ignite. He supposed that the timing was somewhat unfortunate.

He had noticed it sitting there inside him every time Al's hand had let go of his because someone else was in sight. Every time something pointy had drilled into his shoulder or back or ass or thigh in some closet or chamber that they had slipped into for a minute or two. Every time he had returned to his own bed at four fifteen in the morning after three woefully short hours nestled against Al's body to find his own sheets ice cold and just all _wrong_.

He had said they wouldn't hide in bathrooms, and they hadn't.

Not in bathrooms, they hadn't. For hygiene reasons.

In plain sight, yes.

Somehow, they had come to the silent understanding that they didn't want their parents to find out via Shrew and Parkinson (and Shrew's and Parkinson's parents), and so they had had furtive kisses and stealthy groping sessions elaborately planned, so no one would notice unless they looked very hard.

It had been a fun, exciting game... for about a week. After that, it had only been exhausting. Exhausting, with a dash of insufferable every time some other (invariably heterosexual) Hogwarts couple strolled by, holding hands, attached at the mouths, completely oblivious about how bloody lucky and privileged they were to have what they had and took for granted.

All he had wanted was one day. One full day of being with Al, in every way, like all those others were with their boyfriends and girlfriends on a regular basis. One day of bloody normalcy. No stares. No titters. No fear of exposure dangling over their heads. Just the two of them, for once. Touching, hugging, kissing without checking the surroundings first.

Suddenly, he was very angry indeed.

"If Albus Potter isn't welcome here, as a guest with the right to come and leave as he pleases and the right to privacy according to every law of decorum, then I swear I'll be leaving with him after dinner."

During the middle of the sentence, a lump formed in his throat, but he squeezed his voice around it with iron determination.

"And I don't know when or if I'd be coming back, because I want to be with him." He stressed every single word of that last part of the sentence, looking his father in the eye the whole time, forcing himself with all his might not to cry, not to blush, not to blubber or snivel or cower, not to look away.

"Scorpius..." His father frowned, closed his mouth, opened his mouth again, hesitated, frowned some more.

"I'm serious, Dad. I really am." He huffed, letting some of the tension go, letting the reins slip just a tiny bit. Seeing his father torn like that, warring with himself and the spectre his own father that ghosted about in his head again, brought a new flash of guilt.

"I'm sorry that you feel like I lied to you," he said heavily. "I just wanted to spare everyone the additional drama, given that even just inviting him and his parents over for dinner was already such a big challenge for you already. I figured it would be best to just present you with a fait accompli like this and then let you figure it out by yourself and in your own time."

He gave his father a moment to respond, but he didn't, so he continued.

"Just so you know, it _is_ a fait accompli, no matter how you think about it. You don't know how... patient I've had to be. How difficult it was to- I've... We've _earned_ this." He shook his head, disbelieving. Six months and a week. One hundred and ninety-one days. How could this almost astronomical-seeming number of days encompass the happiest and the most miserably frustrating time of his life all at once?

"I just want to be with him," he repeated more softly, putting a _Please don't abandon me in this_, _Dad. Please trust me_ into his last look, then sighed, suddenly feeling all deflated, and turned his head away.

There was a long moment of silence, so long in fact that Scorpius almost thought that this conversation was over - for now. No way would his father ever let an angry outburst and a threat like that stand. And the lying issue was certainly not off the table just because Scorpius had told him why he'd done it. No, that would be too easy, and _easy_ was just not how parenting was done in this manor.

Scorpius expected to hear the door shut. Surprisingly, his father cleared his throat after a while and started, "I'm not..."

He breathed in as if to steel himself properly, then tried again, with more momentum and parental authority this time.

"The thing is, I'm not sure I condone underage sexual intercourse under my roof."

Scorpius couldn't help himself. He snorted a laugh. "Dad!"

He didn't think that he had ever heard his father say the three letter word before. And that despite the fact that his mum had told him that he'd been quite the lady-killer during his school days, what with having a girlfriend in fourth year already and at least three other girls having mad crushes on him at any given time. His father had always seemed so prudish and uptight, making clear his notion that intimacy was something people _did_ in absolute privacy, not something that should ever be _talked_ about.

"I'm serious, too, Scorpius," he insisted. "And so will Auror Potter be, I'm sure. After all, it would be his son who would, de jure, be committing a crime, even if it is one without punishment." He seemed to gnash his teeth a little at the last bit.

"Dad," Scorpius laughed, "who said anything about sex?"

He could hardly suppress a fit of giggles when his father wrinkled his forehead and spluttered to explain and spots of colour appeared on his cheeks.

"No, honestly, Dad. It's... This is not about sex." He paused a beat and reconsidered. "I mean, not _all_ of it. Sex is... it's just not the highest goal of the enterprise, if you know what I mean."

He gestured to badly illustrate the rather vague point. He felt another sort of heat creeping up his neck.

His father still glared at him.

"I mean," he exhaled in exasperation, "I wouldn't be... you know, disinclined, but it's not like Al and I have, uh... explicitly scheduled it..."

They had talked about it. In obvious hints, which was as bold as they could get while hiding in some Hogwarts alcove and not knowing how far the cavernous acoustics might carry their words. Frank language and heart-to-heart-talks were two of the privileges of the hand-holding, ostentatiously lovey-dovey couples whom Scorpius had come to hate with a passion and whose ranks he hoped to join as soon as possible.

His father crossed his arms in front of his chest. "In that case, I'm quite sure I don't condone _unplanned_ underage sexual intercourse."

He rolled his eyes. "It's not 'unplanned'. We _are_... uhm, prepared and... everything. It's... We're just not in a hurry. It's merely a... possibility. It depends on so many things, circumstances, and they'd _all_ have to be _just_ _right_\- I mean, you know." He gestured some more, then shrugged, then closed his mouth, which was probably a good idea.

His father continued to look at him darkly, the effect of it somewhat ruined by the pink splotches above his cheekbones.

Eventually, he sighed one of his dad-sighs that Scorpius had come to know too well.

"You know, son, you seem to want me and your mother to just trust you on this and treat you like the adult you almost are..."

Scorpius lowered his eyes and sighed heavily himself. _Almost. _Given that he was sitting here in his Pokémon briefs, that was probably fair.

"You could have made it easier for us by not scheming behind our backs and keeping secrets."

He glowered at his hands which he had folded in his lap and said nothing. He had already explained himself before. His reasoning had been sound and not half as childish as his father now made it seem, he was certain of it. But there was no way to convince him of that now, or make his case for a What-If-scenario. Thus he kept his mouth shut. Also something he had learned from Albus.

Into his stubborn silence, Milly popped. Turning to his father, she squeaked, "The Lady Mistress requires your assistance with the roast in the kitchen, Master Draco," then bowed and vanished again with another pop.

Draco let out another sigh and shook his wristwatch out of his sleeve, considered the clock-face for a moment, and finally tsk'ed.

"This conversation is not over, Scorpius. Not for me, at least."

Without another word he left for the kitchen.

Scorpius stayed for another minute, ruminating over whether there was anything he could or should have said in response, then determined that there wasn't, and got up to wash his face, try to get his hair under control, and change into his best suit.

Something in which he would look dashing. And really, really almost adult.

/

**TBC** (tomorrow)


	4. Chapter 4

Title: A Helping Handshake

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter

Rating: M. "Sex." "Damn." "Shit." See? Language. Tsk.

Warnings: Self-reproach. Good-humoured bashing of the French. Me trying to be funny. The usual.

* * *

_Thanks to Bridget Narcissa Malfoy, Xxpandagirl101xX, Mineha, Evanesco-Muffliato, AnneCpc, AnoGal and __Plucie for favving and/or reviewing and/or following this story and/or me! Your nods make me happy and/or ecstatic. (Seriously. Sounded sarcastic, but wasn't.)  
_

_Furthermore:  
Thanks to my Weird Guest for another review! Hush, love. You're getting your dinner now :)  
And thank you, Random Person (why not 'Random Citizen'? I could totally have quoted Megamind. Man, that would have been awesome), for your review! First off: I hope your "silence" while reading the original story wasn't born from a general feeling of "meh, this story is, like, okay, I guess". Secondly: While I was working on this, I actually thought about giving both Ginny and Astoria - and, for a minute, even Lily Rose - a part (or parts) in the story. After all, their take on the whole affair would also be interesting, wouldn't it? But I also originally planned this as a one-shot/one(-long)-chapter thing, and then it was _finally_ finished (only five chapters longer than I wanted it, whey!), and I sort of liked the end product. It now has three POV characters, plus one (see below, literally the last bit I wrote), becoming Draco-centric toward the end, which (I hope) will eliminate any confusion from here on. Thirdly: Me? Good at writing? *excited velociraptor*_

_Allright! Who's ready to meet The Potters? Draco, please put down that roast fork..._

* * *

**Chapter 4**

/

Astoria knew that something was off the moment her husband came into the kitchen, dipped the tip of a finger into the mushroom soup, tasted it and said, "Ugh, Merlin, Astoria. This is_ really_ good."

She knew because he did not comment on the fact that she was just tending to the roast that was sitting in the oven, already smelling delicious despite being only about three quarters ready yet.

Also, he did not comment on the stunning dress she had donned for the occasion, and also, as far as she could tell, had not even glanced at her butt, even though it looked freaking phenomenal in aforementioned dress.

She flipped the oven door shut, set down the long-handled spoon she had poked the roast with, crossed her arms and gave him her most patient look. "Draco. Dearest. What's going on?"

He avoided her eyes for a full minute, replaced the lid on the mushroom soup pot and occupied himself fiddling with the oven switches without actually changing anything instead. Eventually, he rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache coming, looked at his wristwatch and mumbled something about 'The Potters' and 'fifteen minutes'.

"Draco," she repeated, just a smidgen more persistently without actually pressing him. Any other day, she would have used a different tone of voice, the one she knew would very efficiently and successfully worm the truth out of him indeed because that's how it had worked for seventeen years of matrimony, and counting. But it also always left him a little sore - wounded pride was a big thing for a Malfoy - and, as a consequence, a tad more cantankerous than usual. And cantankerous just wouldn't do when The Potters were indeed scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes.

If at all possible, she didn't particularly want to complicate things further for Scorpius. Everyone was tense enough as it was, and for good reason. She knew well about the history between the previous generations of the houses Malfoy, Potter and Weasley.

If at all possible, she wanted to spare the current generation that drama.

"Our son has lied to... us." Draco cleared his throat. "To me, at least."

She cocked her head and waited and listened.

"Up until..." He trailed off. Leaning onto the edge of the sideboard, he gave one of those deep sighs Astoria knew were the alternative to his throwing a fit or getting angry about insubordination or things generally not going his way. His father had been a terrible role model when it came to handling that.

"It seems to me that, up until Scorpius and the Potter boy got together, he didn't... He _talked_ to me more. You know? He didn't keep secrets from me. And suddenly, he is in a serious relationship for half a year and doesn't tell me, just two weeks later I'm making a roast for his-" The pause was miniscule. "-boyfriend's parents, and then... it turns out that this was really all just an front, an arrangement so they can spend the night together. Here. By themselves. W..._With_ each other, probably."

Now it was Astoria's turn to sigh.

"He slipped up when we talked, can you believe that? I wouldn't have had a clue..." He shook his head, huffing a short laugh while hitting the sideboard with the side of his fist in a frustrated gesture. "Tory, I'm... not sure he- How did I not notice? And he's- He's only sixteen and-"

"Draco," she said for the third time, interrupting him with gentle insistence.

"You knew, didn't you? Did he tell _you_?" Astoria heard the unspoken '_but not me?_'

She shook her head. "He didn't. And he didn't need to. Frankly, I'd have been surprised if it hadn't been an arrangement. The timing was _very_ convenient."

Her husband clenched his teeth, dismayed.

Astoria chuckled a little. "Draco, my darling. Scorpius and I have things in common that the two of you just don't. These things are few and far between, granted, but they exist. One of them is being head over heels in love at the really-not-so-tender age of sixteen."

She beamed, remembering the year when she had first met Draco Malfoy, two years her senior, personally, and he had actually taken note of her despite all the trials and tribulations he had been in at the time. Despite her being younger than him - significantly younger in every way; innocent, even naive. Despite her being the younger sister of the person whose eye he had originally caught, a person who was, by every measure, more attractive and accomplished and more congenial to him because they had gone through more similar experiences.

And still, here they were.

"In love at sixteen..." She stepped closer to him and lay a hand on his shoulder, then pressed herself gently against his back. "... and just ever so slightly... perpetually... so very, very..."

Resting her chin against the crook of his neck, she breathed a word into the general direction of his ear.

Which proceeded to redden just a little, especially when her other hand slid down his side and patted his left buttock. She heard him sigh again, another kind of sigh now. Her much preferred kind.

She pressed a kiss against his jawline, then stepped back with a slightly wistful sigh of her own, straightening her dress.

"Everything is fine, Draco. Scorpius loves you. He is nervous because he thinks he has a lot to lose. Everything is new and exciting, and he's being a little stupid and overcautious."

"A little stupid," Draco scoffed. "He means to have- have-"

"Sex," Astoria finished for him. "And that's perfectly fine, too. Morgane knows he has been patient as a saint." Something occurred to her. "Given, of course, that they haven't done it at Hogwarts yet, which I think rather unlikely, though..."

A visible jolt went through her husband. "Tory-"

"Draco. Stop it." She was getting a little tired of his fussing.

"_Tory_-" he tried again, turning around to face her.

"Darling, I'm serious." She locked eyes with him. "Don't be afraid for him. There's no need."

He wasn't convinced, she could see it in his eyes. But she also knew that he was never easily persuaded. Something about being swayed in his opinion always made him recoil and get angry at himself.

"I'm going to receive the Potters at the door now," she said, silently resolved that, one day, she would get to the bottom of the mystery that was her husband. "You go and put the finishing touches to your precious roast and meet us in the dining room when you're ready, alright?"

She gently touched his arm. He didn't pull away.

/

/

"I should have worn my uniform," Harry grumbled and loosened his tie for the tenth time. Was he just imagining things or did it keep getting tighter?

"Oh please, Harry, don't be melodramatic." Ginny reached out, swatted his hands away and shoved the knot of his tie back up to how it had been before. Somehow she managed this while walking backwards in heels over the gravel road that lead up to the Malfoy Manor. "Remember we're having dinner with them. We're not here to intimidate or arrest them."

He assumed that her 'we' was one of her royal plural 'we's she used so often, which actually meant 'I', therefore not actually implicitly including him. Because really, the sight of Malfoy Manor, clearly misnamed Malfoy just-two-spires-short-of-a-gothic-Castle, made his palms itch, his chest somewhat tight with stinging cold memories, and he suddenly was very much in the mood for both intimidating and arresting the shit out of Draco Malfoy. For whatever. Being a pompous, show-off-y bastard, maybe. For still living in this bloody mansion with all its shady, shoddy past.

Certainly for fathering a son who had bewitched Albus. After all, Scorpius was still underage for a few months, and parents are to be held responsible for the misdoings of their underage kids.

He glanced at Al who was walking slightly ahead of them, pulling them along like a pace-setter at a 5 kilometre race. He hadn't said more than five syllables all day – probably compensating for Ginny, who virtually hadn't stopped talking since she'd woken up this morning – but Harry also felt a nervous anticipation radiating off of his son that had somehow made him even more taciturn than usual. The good kind of nervous anticipation, the kind that he was used to from Lily – and which, unlike Al, Lily knew how to communicate it properly.

Albus just smiled serenely and acted cool, but Harry could see the signs that he was practically bubbling underneath his skin.

Clearly, he had been thoroughly bewitched.

For that alone, he wanted Draco Malfoy in the dock. Just in case.

"Why do they even have a gravel road?" he mumbled and frowned down at his tie. "It's not like anyone's going to drive up to the house with a car."

"Maybe it's from the carriage days." Ginny swatted at some dandruff or hairs or imaginary specks of dirt on his shoulder. "Or maybe they just like to let their guests have a nice stroll. I, for one, think it's quite lovely. Look at the statues and the trees..."

Indeed, they had passed at least a dozen stone statues ever since apparating up to the front gate. Most of them were classical ladies who had very little on, posing with vases or flower bouquets or bowls, their faces invariably set in uncomfortably melancholy expressions as if they had long since started to question their general working conditions and found that their job really wasn't very fulfilling, personally.

"I don't think it qualifies as a 'nice stroll' if you're yearning for a refreshment station before the Manor itself even comes into view," Harry groused. "Seriously, he could have just let us floo in, or put up an apparating field somewhere closer by... Also, what if it was raining?"

"Harry, shush now. We're almost there."

"You said the same thing like ten minutes ago."

"We've only been here for five minutes, Harry. Don't be a baby."

"I'm so thirsty."

"_Harry._"

He was pretty sure that there was an unwritten paragraph in every man's marriage contract that required him to shut up if his wife ever said his name in just that tone of voice lest he wanted trouble. Sage advice. Harry gritted his teeth, huffed through his nose, said nothing and went back to brooding internally.

All the while, Al wore a smile on his lips, and his eyes went wider and brighter at the sight of the Manor's roof over the trees and the twinkle of the countless windows in the low evening sun.

Bewitched for sure.

Harry huffed. His collar was itchy.

/

Ginny was still relentlessly fussing over her husband, his hair, his clothes, and his attitude, when Al pulled the brass door knocker.

Both the knock and a soft chime could be heard from inside Malfoy Manor which Harry had known was big, but now that he was standing in front of it, it was a bloody gigantic thing. A bloody gigantic thing which he remembered somehow... darker. And he thought that it wasn't just the weather. There had been a feeling, something that had been deeper, more fundamental, last time he had been here. Some sort of corruption he had instinctively known would never be erased, like a stain that had long since set into a fabric and chemically bonded with it so it would never come out.

And yet, now that he was looking at it...

Before he could finish the sentence in his head, the door was opened. Harry, who had expected a house-elf to do the duty, was taken aback by the elegant witch with long, chocolate-brown hair, flawless skin, pale green eyes and a wide, genuine smile who stood before them.

"Auror Potter!"- she addressed him first, shaking his hand vigorously - "Mrs Potter!"- she took and pressed Ginny's hands - "and Albus, of course." She took him by the elbows and kissed the air beside his right cheek, beaming at him. "Welcome! I'm Astoria. It's such a shame it took us so long to get acquainted properly. I'm very pleased to see you. Do come in. You must be starving. I know that the walk to the house from the front gates is somewhat of a peregrination. Dinner is almost ready. Come in, come in!"

Both Harry and Ginny interjected the required polite if somewhat meaningless noises into her warm welcome as they stepped into the front hall; Albus first, then Ginny, Harry last and with some hesitation and a noticeable twinge of discomfort behind his belly button. A tiny hind part of his brain kept anticipating a portcullis to come crashing down behind them.

The front hall was an enormous room, illuminated by the evening sun whose rays were refracted by the – glass? zircons? actual diamonds? - of the equally enormous, vaguely pear-shaped chandelier that filled the mid-air. It was all light marble, stones, mirror glass, and tasteful light woods. It wasn't dark enough at all. As if it were an entirely different place.

As Harry was staring and trying not to reconnoitre the area, and a house-elf by the name of Milly collected all their coats for the wardrobe, a voice rang out from the top of the stairs. A young man in impeccable clothes with short and very, very blond hair bounded down toward them, taking two steps at a time which made him seem like an excited child in a very expensive, well-tailored suit.

Harry tried his hardest to fight down the _other_ twinge-y feeling. The one that veered more toward homicide.

"Scorpius!" Albus chose that moment to break his vow of silence and practically lit up in front of his father's eyes, his face competing with the chandelier in its brightness.

Ginny and Harry exchanged a meaningful look, and Ginny's eyes went momentarily wide.

The two boys exchanged an intricate handshake and a comradely half-hug/shoulder tackle which seemed like a comfortable ritual they had cultivated over the years. Harry had expected – and steeled himself for – an actual embrace, even a kiss, or just _some_ sort of overt affection, and was both relieved and irritated that none of the latter happened. Instead, they immediately started chatting as if the rest of the world had just fallen away entirely. Which, Harry supposed, was another sort of display of overt affection.

Just before it might be misconstrued as impoliteness, Scorpius turned to Ginny and him and introduced himself, shaking their hands.

"Auror Potter," he said, looking him in the eye and gripping his hand firmly. "Pleasure to finally meet you in person after seeing you for breakfast almost every morning when the _Prophet_ comes in."

"Just 'Mr Potter' will do," he replied, shrugging, then glanced at Ginny. "I'm not wearing my uniform. Not here to intimidate or arrest anyone, after all."

Scorpius' previously self-assured smile faltered just a tiny bit at that. "'Mr Potter' it is then," he acknowledged, glancing at Albus for help and getting an encouraging smile in return.

"Right," Astoria interjected and clapped her hands together. "Now that we're all here, we can make our way to the dining room. My husband is tending the roast in the kitchen at the moment. He's convinced that the poor thing needs spiritual support in order to taste good later, and that he's the only person in the northern hemisphere who knows how to lend that support..."

The dining room, in which they arrived after a short walk down a wide hall, turned out to be situated against a full glass wall that allowed a panorama of the manor gardens, particularly the rose garden, while letting plenty of sunlight and warmth in.

The middle of the room was dominated by a rectangular mahogany dining table, big but not monstrously so, allowing everyone a comfortable amount of elbow room. It was already set for six persons. The silverware twinkled, polished to a shine. Ginny ooh'ed and aah'ed at the details, and at the view.

Astoria settled Harry at one head end of the table, Ginny to his right, Albus to his left. Scorpius took the seat next to Ginny, smiling a little almost rueful smile at Albus diagonally across the table, before he let himself be snared into conversation by the former Holyhead Harpies chaser. Astoria herself sat down next to Albus.

Harry declined the wine as an aperitif but nodded enthusiastically at cool sparkling water. He hadn't been lying to his wife, he was thirsty. He gulped the water down fast enough to almost give himself a brain freeze, then alternately tuned in to the two separate conversations.

Conversations. Interviews. Interrogations. Whatever. Same difference.

The seating arrangement had clearly been made by Astoria. Knowing that the two mothers in attendance would be most curious about the respective boyfriend of their respective son, she had enabled herself and Ginny to pick the respective brain to their heart's content.

How was he doing at Hogwarts?

How were his marks?

Which were his favourite subjects?

Which were his least favourite subjects?

Which were his elected subjects? (And why had he not chosen Muggle Studies? In this day and age, that seemed downright careless.)

How were the holiday assignments coming along?

And the preparations for the N.E.W.T.s?

How about the rest of the holidays? Any plans? How about an internship?

And how about after graduation? Any plans? How about an internship?

And apart from Quidditch, did he have any hobbies?

Harry sipped on his water and listened to Scorpius Malfoy's patient, consistently good-humoured answers. Scorpius, in turn, seemed determined to include him in the conversation even though he hadn't said a word yet, alternately making eye contact with Ginny and him and leaning toward him with his upper body.

Harry didn't want to admit it, but the boy didn't remind him of Draco Malfoy at all. The hair was there, in defiance of every law of genetic recessiveness, and the high forehead which wasn't so noticeable because Scorpius didn't wear his hair slicked back like his father always had, but the rest of it was simply... completely different.

And his answers were good, damn him, showing him as a well-rounded, well-educated, intelligent young man. The only obvious fault he had was that he didn't have proper ideas about his future career, but he was only sixteen years old and, really, which sixteen year old on this planet had any proper plans for the future – and damn it, Harry was defending the boy against himself already!

He even asked questions back, and he was genuinely interested in Ginny's replies.

"Albus told me that his disinclination to Potions runs in the family," he was just saying, implying the question – clearly addressing him this time, not Ginny – while simultaneously raising his own glass of water to his lips to give him the opportunity to answer.

"I'm afraid it does," Harry confessed, finally letting himself be included in the interrogation, and pursed his lips at the memories of Potions lessons long ago. Jokingly, he added, "We had hoped that his middle name would counteract that. Turns out it doesn't work that way."

"Middle names are tricky things," a voice rang out from almost behind him. "I've found that they rarely say much about a person. Thankfully."

Harry managed not to flinch, and to fight the urge to immediately stand up to not be looked down on by Draco Malfoy.

"Good evening, Mrs Potter. Auror Potter." His voice and demeanour was almost painfully neutral, even though Harry _really_ wanted to detect a hint of condescension in his title. "Albus Severus," he finished his greetings with a certain bite in his voice. Al nodded politely in response, only a tiny uncertainty in the motion, and gave a "Mr Malfoy, thank you for inviting us" back.

"Draco, darling, has the roast finally succumbed to you?" Astoria asked, nipping on her red wine, eyes sparkling with laughter. Some inside joke, clearly.

"Despite your best efforts, my dear, it has. They always do. You know that," he answered, which made Astoria smile openly so her white teeth flashed.

"Since we have twice as many people to serve today, I thought it appropriate to arrange a service à la Hogwarts. But instead of a whole army of house-elves, Milly is doing it alone, so-"

"Everyone, hands and elbows off the table, please," Astoria finished for him. "Prevents misfortune during the serving. No sleeves in the butter tonight."

They all tucked their arms in for a few seconds. At Draco's call, Milly appeared and promptly disappeared again. Another moment later, one by one, plates of steaming creamy mushroom soup with some fresh bread to the side appeared on the table before each of them.

Once the first course was fully dished up, Draco sat down. Directly in front of Harry at the far end of the table, looking decidedly smug.

"Please, enjoy your meal," he said, toasted to no one in particular with his wine, and started with the soup.

Harry took up his own spoon mostly out of spite, and because Ginny was silently widening her eyes in a _Be Nice_ sort of plea.

The soup was delicious. Damn it.

/

"Sweet Morgane, I'm stuffed."

Ginny leaned back in her seat with a contented sigh, pushing her dessert plate a mere centimetre away from herself. Harry knew that she would be returning to it in a few minutes. It was impossible for her to leave a plate unfinished. Wasting food was one of the major crimes in their house.

"So am I," Astoria concurred. "I hope the dessert stomach will be opening soon. I'm feeling positively pregnant over here."

The two women at the table had bonded over the main course, when Astoria had entertained the table with tales of her husband's (imagined) superiority in all things meat, and Ginny had countered with a recounting of Harry's (thankfully singular) barbecuing adventure two years ago.

Meanwhile, both Harry and Draco had done their best to never look straight ahead.

"Do you feel like refreshing, my dear?" Astoria asked and rose from the table.

"Very much so, yes," Ginny agreed and copied her movements.

They vanished from the room together, leaving four men looking after them with varying degrees of confusion (Albus and Scorpius) and desperation (Harry and Draco).

"Women," Scorpius murmured softly and returned to his chocolate meringue, and the three others grunted wordless acknowledgement.

The silence stretched and quickly became strange. Draco wished he hadn't finished his dessert and pondered, for a second, to go get himself seconds, but then decided that it would look like fleeing.

"So, uhm, Scorpius," Harry started when the awkwardness had reached an unbearable level. "Albus told me you and your father went to see Florence Villeneuve fly last week?"

"Yes," Scorpius replied, visibly relieved to speak about something that didn't have to do with Hogwarts and his marks and that wasn't designed to surreptitiously pump him for information about his future plans and whether or not and to what degree they included Albus. Something that he actually _liked_ to talk about. "She played Sunday two weeks ago. We were lucky to get seats on short notice. From one season to the next, it got pretty crazy with all those people there. They're actually thinking about moving from Calais to the bigger stadium near Lille, just for her."

"And what do you think of her?"

"Oh, she's really amazing. Not just her flying skills, I mean. She's fearless, and _so_ fast. But the way she gets so much force behind the Bludger and how precise her shots are..."

He carried on like that for quite some time, eventually enlisting the assistance of Albus and the salt and pepper shakers on the table to properly convey to two ignorant Seekers just how brilliant her beating technique was.

"The sad thing is," Draco added at the end of the very detailed description, "that she's French."

"Gods, yes," Harry nodded. "Downright tragic. Such talent when the national team overall sucks so badly. Watching them play is physically painful."

"You watched the Frenchies play?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did you lose a bet or something?"

"Free tickets from a Swiss colleague for France versus Switzerland, in November last year. One of the perks of working Ministry." He grimaced. "It was a miracle they weren't sitting backwards on their brooms, really."

Draco gave an amused, somewhat gleeful grunt in response, then asked, "So, are the Harpies on to Villeneuve already or what? Because they'd seriously be stupid if they weren't."

Harry have a half-shrug. "Rumour has it that they've been after her for years, yes. Ginny says the management is keeping very mum about the whole thing. Biggest issue's probably money. I wouldn't be surprised if she ended up with some big fancy billionaire's team or another in Canada or something. Stonewall Stormers, maybe."

"Well, they'd also be speaking her native language, sort of," Draco conceded with a sigh. "And Merlin knows she'd be in very good company. Gernet. Furlong..."

"Madrigale," Harry pointed out.

"Madrigale," Draco gestured and nodded. "Even though he's always on the bench..."

As Draco and Harry went on enumerating the members of the Stormers' five star team, Albus and Scorpius exchanged a brief look that spoke volumes and a cautious smile across the table.

"Didn't the Stormers buy that super-expensive South-African fellow just last May, whatshisname-"

"Joseph Prinsloo," Albus interjected out of reflex.

"Yes, that one. He who's always injured and out of form."

"As long as Gernet is chasing with him, he's not going to shine anyway," Draco said with a tilt of his head. "I have no idea why they bought Prinsloo when Gernet is still there, and he'll still be going strong for at least three years."

"And he and Prinsloo are virtually identical, they can't complement each other at all," Scorpius added, gesturing with his dessert spoon.

"Maybe he'll go back to Pretoria, as soon as they clean themselves up," Al suggested.

"He'll only have to wait for that for a decade or so," Draco huffed patronisingly. "That scandal was just the tip of the iceberg, I'm telling you. Govender, Naidoo, even Fourie, they should all be barred from the sport, and the rest should just start from scratch under a new name."

"_New_ Pretoria Proudsticks," Harry suggested.

"An actual new name, Potter," Draco drawled.

"_Actually_ New Pretoria Proudsticks."

Al snorted despite himself. Scorpius groaned softly and murmured something about dad jokes. Draco just looked slightly disgusted.

Silence fell again, definitely more companionable this time.

"Anyway," Draco cleared his throat and threw his napkin onto his now empty dessert plate. Something had just occurred to him. "You could go see Villeneuve tomorrow afternoon, Potter. Her last appearance before Beauxbatons steals her away again for three months. I'm sure Albus would love the chance."

Scorpius abruptly went rigid in his seat to his father's left. Al noticed and threw him a questioning look which his boyfriend didn't return.

"Alas, we didn't reserve seats. It's not so bad, though, we just saw her a week ago after all," Harry answered, aware of the sudden change in the atmosphere on the table, but utterly clueless about what had happened.

"You can have our reservations," Draco offered with pointed politeness. "Astoria and I are going to be tied up in London until Monday so Scorpius and I can't go."

"Uhm. Are you sure?" Harry wrinkled his forehead. Something was odd.

"I am," Draco replied airily. "That is, unless Albus has other plans tomorrow." He turned to Albus, head cocked in slightly exaggerated inquisitiveness.

Al looked back at him, blinking and more than slightly alarmed at how Scorpius seemed to have frozen up on the other side of the table. "I, uh..."

A long, silent, tense moment went by. Draco continued to stare at Albus.

The moment was broken abruptly by the return of Astoria and Ginny, both of them giggling as if they were fourteen again and had just bonded to become besties 4eva, possibly even 5eva.

Just before he allowed the tension to melt away again for the benefit of his wife, Draco turned his face toward Harry and locked eyes.

Distaste and anger. None of this made any sense to Harry in this moment. Especially not when directed at Albus, who had been a perfect gentleman all evening, and they had all been chatting amiably for almost three whole minutes just a moment ago.

Harry stood up, which made the chair screech somewhat noisily over the floor.

"Mr Malfoy, a word, please?" he asked as politely as he could. "In private?"

The recently returned women looked from left to right, perplexed.

Albus looked at Scorpius.

Scorpius in turn looked at his father, managing to coax the shortest moment of eye contact out of him. "Dad. Please," he said quietly. "Please." Nothing else.

Eventually, Draco also got up, setting his chair out behind him almost noiselessly, then gestured toward the door that led to the hallway.

"We'll soon be relocating to the sitting room, darling," Astoria said, her light tone failing her just the tiniest bit for once. She, too, was mystified as to what exactly was going on, and had noted the tense set of her husband's shoulders.

"We'll go up to the balcony," Draco informed her curtly, mumbled something about "I think I need some fresh air", then said to Harry, "You'll want to finish your wine outside."

In truth, Harry had barely nipped at it during the meal. He wasn't much of a wine drinker. Something about the flatness of his suggestion compelled him to snatch up his wine glass, though.

Draco lead him out the room, his son's wide eyes palpably on his back.

/

**TBC** (tomorrow)


	5. Chapter 5

Title: A Helping Handshake

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter

Rating: M. Just M.

Warnings: Flashbacks, bad parenting, early stages of alcoholism.

* * *

_Hi guys! Good to see you again :)_

_Today's Thank Yous go to blutbank, Cleeasto, Weird Guest, Random Pers..._Citizen_ (embrace it) and Xxpandagirl101xX for all the things. You know what you did. I love all y'all._

_Weird guest: Yes, it could have gone much worse. In fact, I had originally imagined a lot more bitching and fighting, but then I thought 'Man, Draco is just too well-educated, and Harry wouldn't dare to act out with Ginny next to him'... so everything went better than expected.  
_

_Random Citizen, the artitist formerly known as "Random Person": About that "I wish I was better at writing fiction" - in the words of the immortal Bob Ross: _**"Talent is a persued interest. Anything that you're willing to practice, you can do."** _That's true for writing structured research papers (man, I wish I had that interest. It would make my life so much easier), for writing reviews and for writing fiction. Just write. It's a learning-by-doing sort of activity. If you need feedback, you can ask almost anyone on this page for it (including me). And Re: How does an excited velociraptor look like: Of course it looks a little like me when I'm reading reviews._  
**  
**_Okay, now. The second-to-last chapter! Please enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 5**

/

They passed one of his treasured grandfather clocks. It said eight twenty-seven. Another hour of this, then it would be done. He suppressed a sigh.

"Care to tell me what the hell happened these last one and a half minutes?" Potter's tone of voice was all diplomacy.

Draco rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He unlatched the door and stepped out onto his garden, then turned right and walked up the stone staircase that led onto the wide oval that was his balcony.

The large stone structure overlooked the south-eastern part of the garden and caught the sunlight beautifully. Every spring, Astoria spent hours upon hours decorating the place, lovingly choosing potted plants that complemented the set of garden chairs and vice versa, draping ivy and weaving rambler roses around the banisters. All of it was illuminated by the sun that was now setting quickly, and a couple of pretty cast-iron lanterns that gave off a pleasant orange glow.

Right then, he didn't spare all the beauty a single look. He went to the banister and leaned on it with his knuckles so the stone scraped his skin.

"Malfoy." Potter sounded a little more annoyed now. "Please."

_Dad. Please._

His stomach rolled once. Probably not because of the roast.

_We've earned this._

He had told him about Albus barely two weeks ago. _Six months_, he had said.

So they had been together for six months at Hogwarts. During those six months, Astoria had been at the Shrewsburys at least twice, and he had met Gordon Prince in Diagon Alley, and the Parkinsons in the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts (much to his dismay), and yet no one had breathed so much of a word about his son's new-found romance. Even when, after the whole Rose Weasley episode in February, all eyes had been on him.

Scorpius wasn't a particularly discreet person. Draco always thought that he was prone to wearing his heart on his sleeve, something he had obviously inherited from his mother.

To manage to keep a secret that was, by any measure, scandalous – that must have been a major effort. A feat that went downright against his nature.

He had never seen his son so desperate for approval, and so confident at the same time.

_Dad. Please. We've earned this._

_And,_ a voice in his head said, _what if they have? _

_What if my job, as a father, is now to _not_ be in the way? What if it's my job to simply change my mind? Again?_

"Malfoy, is there a chance that you'd deign an answer? What's your problem with Albus? Just now, downstairs, what was that about?" he heard someone ask, some ways off.

Just eleven days ago, he had changed his mind. Before that moment when Scorpius came to talk to him that Tuesday evening, he had silently harboured the notion that people who were not heterosexual were somehow... wrong.

Turned out _he_ had been the wrong one. Because Scorpius couldn't be. Scorpius was... right, just how he was. In his entirety.

Then, he had thought that Scorpius' choice of partner had been wrong. While he still wasn't fully convinced – and probably would never be, holding on to a healthy suspicion toward _that boy_, just in case – it had also turned out to be a somewhat premature judgement. Albus seemed to be a solid character, with a good head on his shoulders. Most importantly, Draco had never seen Scorpius look the way he did when he looked at Albus. So... glad. Relieved. As if he felt blessed about the simple fact that he was near him.

Now, maybe, he just needed to do it one more time. Trust his son. Step aside. Change his mind one more time.

"A mind that is changed is a weak thing, Draco," his father's voice echoed through his head. "And if ever the absolute need to change your mind arises, in the face of incontrovertible evidence, then that merely serves to emphasise the fact that you were wrong before. Weak or stupid. Either is a failure, Draco. As your father, I must teach you to be better than that."

He shook his head and breathed deeply the evening air that smelled of Astoria's flowers. _No_, he thought fiercely. _No. You never knew how anything about properly being a father._

Being a father, Draco had learnt, meant to love someone else more than one's own life. To want to protect that someone's littlest finger more than one's own eyesight.

And that's what this entire conundrum was about, wasn't it? Just yesterday, Scorpius had been his little boy, his tow-haired Peter Pan, and now he suddenly went and fell in love and wanted to have sex and was all grown-up and started to be this completely self-sufficient person, and Draco couldn't... protect him any more.

It was-

Frightening.

He suddenly remembered a cold and rainy August day, sixteen years ago. Astoria had come home from the hospital, accompanied by her older sister and her mother. He had wanted to be there for her, but then labour had stretched into the nineteenth hour, and then there had been complications, and finally the doctors and his mother-in-law had sent him away just before he could tear the whole ward down. After uncounted hours of going entirely crazy all by himself in the manor, Daphne had eventually let him know that Scorpius had arrived, but that the healers wanted to keep him and Astoria for another couple of days, "just to make sure". She hadn't said _what_ it was they wanted to make sure of, which had made it worse.

When he had seen his wife walking up to the house with that impossibly small bundle in her arm, he had got so, so scared. He had let Daphne and his mother-in-law handle everything for two full weeks, burrowing into his work at the shops, even moving up and making a two-day trip to Dublin. Escaping from the sheer, frightening smallness of that bundle.

Once, in the middle of the night, he had come home after work, hoping to crash on the couch and slip out early again the next morning.

But Astoria had been waiting for him, standing in the dark by the kitchen window. She had grinned gleefully when he had literally jumped with fright.

"Look, Scorpius. Daddy's home," she had told the tiny thing in her arms, leaning her head down to it just a little. Scorpius' tiny hand had come up to try and grasp her nose. She had giggled. "I think Daddy wants to finally meet you properly."

Draco didn't remember what he had said when she came up to him to hand his son over, but it had amounted to "Astoria, please, no, I can't do that." What if he dropped him? Crushed him? Smothered him? Scorpius had come six weeks too early, and then had taken almost a full day and another morning to actually arrive, and then had spent two nights exclusively in an incubator – there was simply no end to his fragility, and hence no counting the ways that Draco could mess up and- Astoria had looked him in the eye, smiled brightly and said, with that infuriatingly unshakable confidence he still didn't know how to resist after almost two decades of being with her, "Draco, I'm not married to a coward."

And then she had just laid Scorpius into his arms, showed him how to support the baby's head, kissed Scorpius on the forehead and him on the cheek, and then gone to sleep.

Now, sixteen years later, Scorpius clearly wasn't a baby any more, so maybe it was time to be brave again and _stop_ trying to hold him.

/

"I guess I'll be going downstairs again," Harry Potter's voice stabbed through his rumination. "I mean, not that it's not really bloody nice out here," he added, then murmured, "in a really, really expensive way," cleared his throat and continued, "but I'd rather hang out with people who talk back."

As he was setting his foot onto the first step downstairs, Draco said, with one last heavy sigh of letting go and a casual look into his wine glass, "You know, I'm really not sure that your son deserves Scorpius."

Just because he chose to trust his son, and therefore implicitly accept and be... civil to his son's lover, didn't mean that he had to make it easy for his son's lover's father.

"It seems plainly obvious to me that Scorpius' feelings for him far outweigh the ones he gets in return," he added.

Especially not if his son's lover's father was still the same huge, self-important, holier-than-thou, philistine, self-aggrandising and overall absolutely irritating git he had been twenty years ago.

"Ex_cuse_ me?" the git replied, promptly having turned away from the stairs. "Is this what the glaring was about? You think Al isn't _genuine_?"

He shrugged, deciding to ignore the middle bit there. "Scorpius had a bit of trouble in love matters some months ago. Rose Weasley troubles, to be exact. Unfortunate business all around. Suddenly, your son is there. Sounds a bit like compulsive helper complex to me, something which we well know runs in the family."

Potter gaped like a guppy. Draco itched for a camera and pinched himself in the thigh through his trouser pocket to keep a straight face.

"Cho Chang?" Draco offered, as if the gaping meant that Potter didn't get what he was talking about. "The parallels should be pretty obvious."

"You- You're nuts," Potter burst out. "And blind to boot. Al _adores_ Scorpius. They've been dating for, what, half a year, you cannot seriously think that anyone would act like they're in love for that long?"

Draco was momentarily annoyed that he had refused to take the Cho Chang bait and decided to change gears.

"True, you've got to hand it to him, your son is completely dedicated to the pretence. Possibly so much so that he believes it himself by now." He paused for effect. "I mean, considering the lengths he's willing to go..."

Potter squinted at him, vastly irritated now. "What on Earth are you talking about?" he asked.

"Ah, Potter, you know very well what I'm talking about," he said loftily, then blinked as if in surprise. "Hasn't Albus told you? I mean, you're his father, it should be obvious to you..."

"_What_ should be obvious to me, Malfoy?" Potter was almost shouting now and Draco _so_ wished he had installed a video camera somewhere.

"Well, Scorpius has confided in me several days ago already..." He trailed off, savouring Potter's facial expression for another bit, then explained to the clueless, indignant Auror, "They mean to... deepen their relationship." Another pause for effect. "Your son means to spend the night. Here. With Scorpius."

"What?" Potter croaked, and then just gasped for air as it sank in.

Clearly, he was just as prepared for that as Draco had been. Marvellous.

"I, too, was somewhat opposed at first. After all, your son is of age while Scorpius is still underage, so technically, such a thing would be a crime-" He didn't get to finish his point at all. Potter didn't care too much about the jurisdiction. Rather, he was opposed in principle, which suited Draco just fine.

"_My son_," Potter said, trying to sound imposing and all Auror-y, but failing on the account that the words came out in agitated little puffs and his neck and ears were rapidly going red, "is _not_ staying the night."

His obvious discomfort caused Draco to smirk inwardly. For reasons of satisfaction alone, his son's plans were now acceptable after all. Acceptable and to be vocally endorsed by him.

Just to see Potter's face.

"Yes, he is," he contradicted easily. "As I just stated, the boy is seventeen already, which, as you well know, means that he's legally adult, and he has determined that he would stay here, therefore, it is not even a question of whether you approve or not."

Harry glowered while the redness spread to his cheeks. Seeing it practically nudged Draco to continue, like a little devil on his shoulder poking him with his pitchfork while shouting 'Do it! You know you want to!'.

"What's more," he therefore went on, gesturing with one hand and shrugging a shoulder in 'this should be patently obvious'-motions. "You already know that Astoria and I will leave for London later this evening to visit her aunt and uncle, and it looks like we won't be back until Monday, so I am glad that Scorpius will have company...," he let the word dangle on the tip of his tongue for a split second, then gave it a small shove, "overnight."

Harry's nostrils flared.

"Careful with the glass, Potter. It was quite expensive," Draco said as he fought very hard not to laugh out loud.

Yes. Yes, it was worth it. Changing his mind had never felt this good.

"Malfoy," Potter pressed out through clenched teeth. "You. Cannot. Be. Serious." His voice was lowered to a hiss. "If they are alone... overnight here... they will... There might be... What if they..." He huffed and gave up on syntax altogether.

Draco, noting with some surprise that Potter had already abandoned the idea of trying to restrain his son from staying wherever he pleased, took the liberty to ostentatiously roll his eyes.

"Believe me, mine and Astoria's presence would make no difference to the end result. You may have noticed that we live in a fairly big house, with fairly thick walls and... well, doors that close and even lock from the inside. Furthermore, we have made a point of not installing video surveillance anywhere. Privacy is really our thing."

"But-"

"They live in a dorm together at Hogwarts for ten months a year, Potter," he deadpanned. "Unsupervised."

"That's different." Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. He even put the glass down on the banister for it, that's how urgently he needed to cross his arms. "At Hogwarts, they could never... I mean, there are always people around."

Draco gazed at him for five long, silent, heavy seconds.

When his opposite was starting to squirm properly, he finally deigned to ask, "So?", drawling the word to the outer limit.

"So _everything_," Harry snapped.

"Honestly, Potter." He sighed in a manner that said 'I cannot believe that I have to explain this to you right now. You are being such an uptight, naive little Gryffindor, it's not even funny. What did you even _do_ in fifth year?'. "Having people around never kept anyone from anything. You do remember that Hogwarts has hundreds of little chambers, nooks and crannies, right? And closets... bathrooms... the Room of Requirement, for Merlin's sake. Blaise Zabini invited all the sixth and seventh year girls there on his fifteenth birthday. Rumour has it he transformed the place into an enormous feather bed and they all had a mass pillow fight."

Harry stared at him with mild horror on his face. A little more than mild, really.

Also, beneath that, there was a sincere sort of anxiety that couldn't express itself properly. Draco still saw it, though, because, being a dad of a pubescent-yet-almost-grown-up son himself, he knew that feeling. It gave him sweaty palms and a dry throat, too. Not that this was the time or the place to own up to that in so many words. All the same, he could hardly make fun of that. It was too much like looking in a mirror.

"What I am saying," Draco amended with a very, very slight apologetic tone, "is that life finds a way anyway, and so will two young men if they really mean to, especially when they are as smart as our sons." _Yes_, he thought, _I just gave your offspring a compliment. Keep it. Frame it. Hang it on your wall._

Before Harry could comment, Draco finished his dad-speech, "And I don't know about you, but I rather my son _not_ have his first time – or... you know... whichever time it is" - he cleared his throat, ignoring his palms as they suddenly got itchy - "I'd rather he _not_ have that in a Hogwarts broom closet or some Diagon Alley doss-house, but preferably somewhere private, inviting and dependable."

As he said it, he realised that, for all his apprehensions about the Potter boy, _this_ was really the central concern now. He wasn't all sure when this transition had happened, given that he had just officially changed his mind ten minutes ago. Neither was he sure whether it was strictly his place to even occupy himself with this. It was, after all, Scorpius' life and his alone, and intimately so, and Scorpius was a Malfoy, and if he wanted to screw the Potter kid on the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower for all the world to see, then so bloody be it. He was almost seventeen – legally adult – himself, too. Legally, and morally, he could – and should – do what he wanted with his own body.

Draco figured that this was another sort of "protecting", another mode of the same overall notion. It didn't feel as good as the original one, but it would have to do.

To his credit, Potter said nothing at that for a good, long while. His complexion normalised incrementally even though the glower didn't leave. Draco could almost see the wheels spinning in his head as he came, inevitably, to the same conclusion.

Then, even more to his credit, he only nodded. Once and very curtly, but he did.

Then he picked up the glass again he had previously parked on the banister and threw its content down his throat in a long gulp. After it was down, he grimaced and croaked, "I'm talking to _you_ about _our sons_ having _sex_. This world's gone mental. Absolutely bonkers. Gah." He shuddered and gave the now-empty glass in his hand a darkly disgusted look.

"While consuming a a 1991 Domaine Leflaive Montrachet like it were water, no less, but acting like it's whiskey," Draco commented drily, "which is the real crazy thing here."

"A what?" he asked, coughing and working his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

With another tiny sigh, Draco repeated, "A Leflaive Montrachet."

"Gesundheit," Harry said wheezily, still trying to clear his throat of the burning, cloying sensation.

"Right," Draco nodded. "Don't go anywhere, I'm getting another bottle."

/

**TBC** (tomorrow)

_Fun fact: A bottle of 1991 Domaine Leflaive Montrachet costs between five and ten thousand US dollars, apparently. I can only assume that the bottle is made of solid Swarovski crystals and that the wine is actually a magic potion that makes Tom Hiddleston fall in love with you, otherwise that price is simply not justified.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

Title: A Helping Handshake

Author: AristideCauquemaire

Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter

Rating: M because I like it.

Warnings: Sappy happy endings.

* * *

_And here we are, at the end of all things... again.  
Sorry that this chapter is so short in comparison =.= It's the curse of last chapters.  
Also, as usual, this chapter will leave you dissatisfied in many ways (regardless of your telepathic attempts to change anything about that...). That's the curse of me. I'm an asshole who learnt about the delight of partially open endings from 80s/90s movies. Sorry._

_Thanks to EmoWithASpork, Random Person (okay, okay... *sigh, sadface*), and Weird Guest for favving and reviewing respectively. Hugs and kisses!_

_Random Person: Then you know what to work on :) Congratulations, that is rare! Plus, organization is a skill that *can* be learnt, and it's not even a complicated one. About the feedback thing... well, my inbox (which is decidedly non-human, last I asked) is open, just saying. Best of luck!_  
_Weird Guest: Oh, you're cruel. After six months of having to hide their feelings and living in fear of getting caught, after the (in some places painful) dad-talks, after waiting for another two weeks before seeing each other again, after sitting through the interrogation at the hands of the motherly inquisition... you want Al and Scorp to squirm even more? That's cold. I'd never do that to my characters. (*furiously takes notes for the next story*)  
_

_Alright, so! The evening comes to an end, as evenings - and also stories - are wont to do...*slightly sad minor piano chord*  
_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

/

"Do you... uhhh."

Harry wiped his face with his hand. It was somewhat ruddier now than it had been before.

Draco sipped the wine, appreciating the taste and smooth texture instead of just drinking it down and gagging on it like a pleb, and patiently waited for him to rediscover whatever he had meant to ask. He let himself sink a little deeper into the soft leather of his balcony chair.

For a short moment, the world was okay. Weird and entirely crazy, but okay. The sun had gone down. Moths were circling the lanterns. Soft evening winds rushed and rustled through the trees of his garden.

"Ah," the tipsy Auror next to him eventually made, disturbing the silence. "Do you also think that our sons have orchestrated all this? Because, you know, I have a feeling that I'm dancing to their tune right now."

He made a rude noise through his nose. "Most certainly," he said, thinking to himself that this genius, practically fail-safe plan had probably mostly been Scorpius'. Because of course.

"I don't think they counted on you getting drunk, though," Draco added with an upwards curl in one corner of his mouth. "You're making this very easy for them indeed. Can't give the dad speech and be properly authoritarian when you're drunk."

"Rubbish! I'm not drunk!"

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not.

"Are, too."

"Am not!"

"Touch your finger to the tip of your nose, then."

"I'll touch my fist to yours, if you want."

"Tsk, no, thanks. Bet you'd be more girly a punch than Granger, and that would just serve to embarrass you."

"I can send her an owl, ask her to come over, so you can compare directly."

"Draco, darling," a voice interrupted the exchange. Astoria stepped onto the balcony. "Our portkey activates in fifteen minutes. It's time."

"Right," Draco answered, getting up from the chair with more aching of joints than he used to. "Right."

He hadn't been looking forward to meeting Astoria's relatives before this. It was even worse now. No matter what he had told Potter an hour ago, he would give an extremity or two to stay here and camp outside Scorpius' bedroom door, just to make sure...

But no. It couldn't be helped. Scorpius had made sure of that. Evil genius.

"Your wife is already waiting in the front hall, Mr Potter," Astoria informed Harry with a slight smirk that told Draco that she had witnessed the last part of the conversation, and that she hadn't missed the wobble with which her addressee had risen from his own seat.

"Right," Harry echoed, then put the half-full glass next to the three quarters empty bottle on the small table with a little sigh. "Wife. Waiting. Front door. On my way."

They left the balcony through the upper door that led into the upstairs hallway. Potter trailed behind for a while, excusing himself for the bathroom when they came by one and emerging from it with a wet fringe. Draco snorted to himself. Water in the face would help little against tipsiness, and even less against wifely detection of said tipsiness. But nice try.

Scorpius and Albus both stood with Ginny Weasley near the still-closed front door. Mrs Potter was already in her cloak and had her handbag dangling from her elbow. Albus had his coat slung over his arm. They were talking amiably until she caught sight of her husband.

"Harry! There you are! Finally! It's past quarter to nine already. You didn't pay attention to the time at all, did you? You know Lily's waiting. Come on, hurry, now! Have you been drinking? We don't want to cause Astoria and Draco to be late for their own journey. If you've been drinking, you can take the Knight Bus by yourself. You're not apparating in that condition, I'm telling you. Come on, now, your cloak!"

Draco wondered when and how she breathed.

"Your face is all wet, dear. And your collar – did you spill your drink during dinner? Merlin, husband. You're taking the Knight Bus for sure. I'm not going to patch you up when you splinch yourself."

Her squawking continued as Potter put on his cloak. He even shot Draco a pitiful look. Draco fought hard to keep a straight face.

With his coat acquired, Harry suddenly called "Scorpius!", quite loudly, abruptly breaking off the verbal stream that kept bubbling out of his wife's mouth.

"Mr Potter," Scorpius responded with almost the same volume, standing a little straighter, like a soldier at attention, but smiling.

Harry offered a hand. Scorpius stepped forward a little, grasped and shook it.

"It was a pleasure to finally meet you," Harry said. "You can come by Godric's Hollow and tutor all three of my kids in Potions anytime."

Everyone chuckled. Scorpius nodded, grinning. "Will do, Sir."

"Good lad." He clapped him on the shoulder, then took a step to the side to quickly shake Astoria's hand and thank her for the meal and the hospitality.

His wife rushed into the opening her husband had given her and gave Scorpius a brief but firm hug.

"It was good to meet you, Scorpius. We'll see you soon," she said, cupping his cheek and looking at him fondly before going to hug Astoria who seemed a little startled at the physical contact but patted her on the back with a smile nonetheless.

Scorpius and Albus threw each other a little look and breathed in at the same time in preparation for that which would now follow.

"Mum, Dad. Uhm." Albus cleared his throat. "I'll stay here 'til Monday. With Scorpius." He really made an effort to make it sound like a plain and incontestable statement instead of an indirect question.

Ginny reached out and patted his cheek as well. "Don't stay up too late. Remember that Monday's dinner is at six thirty sharp and it's your turn to set the table," she told him, then whirled around and started towards the door. "Harry, come on, let's go. We're still late, and it's only getting later."

Harry clapped his son's upper arm. "Behave yourself, son," he said. With his voice lowered conspiratorially, he added, "And stay away from the wine in this house. It tastes like disinfectant."

"Which is why your father sacrificed himself and consumed half a bottle of it all on his own," Draco interjected.

Harry spluttered something about snitches.

Albus stood a little dumbfounded, exchanging a perplexed look with an equally open-mouthed, wide-eyed Scorpius.

Ginny impatiently called "Harry, come _on_!" from outside the now opened front door.

"Yes, my darling wife, I am a-hurrying," Harry called back and turned to leave.

At the last moment, he turned back again and faced Draco.

They looked at one another for a moment.

Harry exhaled mightily, then thrust out his hand.

Draco glanced down at it.

Then at Harry Potter's face.

Then at Astoria, smiling a knowing, lopsided smile by the door.

Then at their two sons, standing there, both of them practically glowing with glee (Scorpius a bit more obvious than Albus), touching at the shoulders and brushing their fingers against the other's almost inconspicuously.

And finally back at the open hand hanging there in mid-air.

He hesitated, feeling intensely that his father would rather have cut off his own fingers than to shake that hand; that Lucius would rather have torched the Manor than to have his grandson's boyfriend spend the night in it; that he would have done it all differently.

He smiled to himself, a feeling of feather-light elation in his chest, then to Harry Potter, and took his hand firmly.

/

** ~ The End ~**

_Thank you again for reading! I hope you liked it!  
Comments and reviews always make me happy, but I'm doubly happy when you log in for them so I can properly give thanks and maybe get into heated discussions with you :)  
Also, my inbox is open for all sorts of fanfiction-related shenanigans.  
_


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